Wildflower Writes

I gave blood the other day. For most people, that's no big deal. I have overcome great obstacles to be able to give blood. When I was 12, my ear started bleeding after I got them pierced. I saw it in the mirror and nearly passed out. When I was 19, I gave blood for the first time in college. I got so dizzy I had to lay on the floor for 45 minutes instead of sipping orange juice. When I was 34, I gave blood at my daughter's school. I passed out. The nurse called my parents to take my daughter and me home. I've given blood a couple times since, always with fear and trepidation that I might have an embarrassing episode. I have to focus on my breathing, be sure not to look at the needle or the tube or the bag, and think about anything else except where I am and what I'm doing (I have a very active imagination). So giving blood is like a rite of passage for me, overcoming a long-held fear of... what? Maybe pain, or death. But when I got the text that my blood typ...

In honor of Father’s day, I’m going to tell you about my dad. Tomorrow, I’ll let him speak for himself. My dad survived three girls growing up in his house. We always joked that he was badly outnumbered; even the dog was female. He has never indicated that he was dissatisfied raising three girls rather than any sons. His passion for sports was passed down, however. I started playing baseball when I was six, soccer when I was eight, and basketball when I was nine. I also ran my first 10K when I was nine, and started volleyball when I was ten. I believe there was also a gymnastics class, tennis lessons, and a never-ending golf game in there as well. As far as I can remember, Dad never missed a single game or meet. Sometimes he’d show up still dressed in his 3-piece suit, and find his place on the bleachers. He has a deep, strong voice, and I could always hear him cheering me on. He would often kick me off the couch at home and get me out tossing a softball, shooting some hoops,...